Walking On Red Brick Road

We lived off Red Brick Road, a little patch of a path the county never saw fit to pave, and no, there were no red bricks anywhere on it. Our house sat in the middle of the woods, just off the beaten path. Oaks, elms, pines and cedars surrounded us on all sides. Wild animals roamed about our eighty acres of land, but Daddy didn't seem to mind.

“They’re part of nature,” he would say from time to time. “And nature is just fine with me.”

It was just fine with me, as well.

The old log house we lived in wasn't too big or too small. Since it was just the two of us, I always thought it was kind of just right. If Momma would have still been around when we moved in—I believe I was about four at that time—then maybe we would have needed a bigger place. But as it stood, Momma was dead, killed in the city by some drunk driver with no conscious. The driver walked away with a couple scratches and some bruises. Momma didn't walk away at all.

Daddy was a strong man with big arms, broad shoulders and rough, calloused hands. A lot of folks were intimidated by his size, a size that was deceptively big—he wasn’t quite six feet tall, but being stacked like a brick outhouse and having those piercing blue eyes caused a few folks to reconsider crossing paths with him. I think they were also afraid of ‘the stare.’ It was cold like ice, his lips cutting a thin line across his face, and his brows stitched in toward his nose, with those blue eyes squinted as if he could see right through you. I only got that look once in my day, when I skipped out of school in the eighth grade to go see Bessie Mae Hallerin. When Daddy picked me up at her house, he looked madder than a pit bull with rabies. Bessie Mae's daddy wasn't too happy about it either.

"Get in," he said and thumbed to his truck. As I went, I could hear Daddy talking with Mr. Hallerin. It grew heated and Mr. Hallerin got to yelling. By the time I reached the truck, Daddy had growled something about it takes two to make a baby. I didn't really know what that meant back then. Yeah, kids know a lot these days, probably more by the age of five than I knew by the time I was ten. Back then it wasn't like that. Kids were kids and in the eighth grade, making babies never occurred to me. Sure, I wanted to kiss her and all, but I didn't know much about sex, except what I had heard at school, and I didn't rightly believe any of those stories. But all that is really beside the point. Bessie Mae's daddy kept yelling and my daddy finally grew tired of it. I looked back as I crawled up into the truck to see Daddy standing over Mr. Hallerin, who was on the ground holding his jaw.

Daddy didn't say a word as he drove home. I glanced over at him a few times and he was chewing—not tobacco or gum or a toothpick. No, Daddy chewed on nothing when he was mad. It was like he was grinding his teeth together, trying to keep his mouth shut so he wouldn't get any madder.

I knew I was in for it when he got me home and I was suddenly wishing the truck would get a flat or the engine would blow, even though I knew it would make him angrier. At least that anger would be directed at the truck and not me.

"Go to your room, Jessie," he said when we got home. He went inside and sat down at the table.

I learned years earlier that you didn't argue with Daddy. Though he never laid a finger on me in anger, I had seen him lay more than a couple of fists on some unfortunate men who had balls enough to disagree with him. Including Mr. Hallerin earlier that day.

I went straight to my room and lay on my bed, more nervous than I had ever been, waiting for Daddy to come in and lay his leather strap to my backside. A couple of hours later he knocked on my door. I tensed up. Tears formed in my eyes. It was time and I knew my bottom would be sore for a few days when he was finished. He didn’t wait for me to respond, and entered my room.

"Dinner's ready. Go eat, do your chores, get your shower and go to bed."

That was it. No beating. No yelling. No nothing.

"Daddy," I said in the middle of dinner, "aren't you going to whoop me or something?"

"You're too old to be gettin' whoopins, Jessie," he said and put a spoon full of stew in his mouth.

"But, aren't you mad?"

Daddy shoveled another spoon of stew into his mouth, chewed what little meat was in it and then set the spoon in the bowl. He put his elbows on the table and folded his hands just below his chin. He rubbed the knuckles on his right hand. I could see where the skin had torn free when he had hit Bessie Mae’s daddy. He must have struck teeth.

He spoke softly.

"Jessie, I'm disappointed. You know better than skip school. You need to get your education, and you ain't gonna get it messin' around with that little girl."

"We didn't do anything. Honest, we didn't."
"I didn't say you did—I'm just disappointed. You know better, and I'm going to tell you this right now, and you had best perk those ears up: if it happens again, I'm gonna lay a beatin' on you right in front of the little lady friend your skippin' school for."

We sat in silence for a long while. My dad seethed in his anger, which I could handle well enough. But him being disappointed bothered me more than anything ever had, more than any beating he could ever give me. He took great pride in me and I thought I had let him down. It played on my mind as I finished my dinner and cleaned the dishes and the bathroom and took my shower. Just before going to bed, I went out onto the porch where Daddy sat, smoking a pipe and looking off into the woods.

"Daddy,” I said when I stepped outside. It was a little chilly out there. “I'm sorry." It was all I could muster.

"I know you are, son," Daddy said and stood. He stepped over and gave me a hug and did something he hadn't done since I was little. He kissed me on the top of my head.

"Get off to bed, son—you've gotta lot of work to do tomorrow."

As I went inside, Daddy called back to me.

"Jessie.”

“Yes sir?”

“That Bessie Mae sure is a pretty girl." He gave me a smile and then waved me on.

That was my dad—he never let the sun set on his anger. I went to bed that night knowing it was all okay. I made for certain to never get that look again; to never disappoint him again.

Daddy was all about lessons, but he was also good about making sure I knew about the world and my surroundings, and that he would always be there for me if I needed him. He talked to me about life and love and Momma, who I barely remembered. Most of those conversations took place as we walked on the wood paths on our property, but they always ended on Red Brick Road.

"Come on, boy, let's go for a walk," he would say.

I knew the walks meant we would talk. It was always the mundane stuff at first: How's school? Are you playing sports this year? Do you still have your eyes on Bessie Mae? You know, that kind of stuff. Then he would start pointing things out to me. The trees, the ground, the sky, the animals. Then, as we stepped onto the old dirt path that was Red Brick Road, he would talk about how things were when he was a kid and how I had it tougher than he did, especially since Momma was gone. He would say 'your momma' like she was still around and not dead, as if he didn't want to mention her name for fear of me maybe asking more questions than he had answers for. Like, why was Momma dead?

When we would reach the end of the path, Daddy would look out at the world, at the beautiful land around us and smile. Sometimes there would be tears in his eyes. I pretended I didn't notice them, just like he pretended they weren't there.

That dirt driveway became a path of lessons for me, and after a while, I longed to take that walk. Reaching the end of it was always the highlight, even during some of the sadder talks where Daddy mentioned Momma and got all sentimental and quiet.

My first day of school, we took that walk and Daddy told me it would be okay and that I would get through the day, even though I was terrified. I didn't much believe him, but he had been right. When I went off to college, Daddy walked me down that path and we stopped at the edge of the road leading out of the woods, and by extension, out of town. He looked up at me and smiled. Again, he told me it would be okay and that I was welcome home anytime.

I got a little adventurous in college, but I always made my way home. When I graduated, instead of staying in the city, I went back to our little town; back to the log cabin in the woods; back to Daddy and those long walks we shared.

"Let's go for a walk, Daddy," I said to him one day after coming home from work.

"Everything okay, Jessie?" he asked.

"Yeah. I just want to go for a walk."

For the most part, that was the truth. I wanted to walk with my dad, but I wanted to tell him something important; something I thought would change my life forever.

Like all the other times, we talked about the everyday stuff we could have discussed over dinner. When we reached the end of the driveway, the sun was setting and Daddy turned to me.

"So, what's this all about, Jessie? I know you didn’t just bring us out here to chit chat."

That was Daddy. Always a step ahead of me.

"Daddy," I said, a smile forming on my lips. "I asked Bessy Mae to marry me."

Daddy's ears perked up. His eyebrows lifted. One corner of his mouth started to turn up, but then stopped, as if he were driving and had seen a yellow light and needed to slow down. "Well, what did she say?"

"She said 'yes.'"

The smile fully formed then, the yellow light having turned green and Daddy sped right through the intersection. He clapped me on the back and gave me a hug. "Congratulations, Jessie.” When he pulled away, he nodded one quick time and said, “I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad," I said. It was a far cry from the day he had told me he was disappointed. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"What's that, Jessie?"

"I want you to be my best man."

Daddy’s aging eyes filled with tears, but like always, none of them fell. "I'd be honored to be your best man, Jessie."

The day I got married Daddy walked with me again. He told me things about my mom I had never known, including how she died and that's why he moved us away from the city. For the only time in my life, I saw a tear actually trickle down his face. All those years of him fighting back the water works finally gave way to a single tear tracing from one blue eye down the side of his face. Daddy took off his wedding band and then reached into his bib-alls, pulling out Momma's.

"Here, I want you to have these," he said and placed the rings in my hand. "I want you and Bessie to have them."

I was stunned and honored all the same. It would be the greatest day of my life. I had both the people I loved most with me—Bessie Mae and Daddy. Bessie wore Momma's band and I wore Daddy's. I would never be happier than on that day.

On my 38th birthday I took Bessie and James, my son, to see my dad. James was still too young to know him as much more than the old guy that gave him treats, but he enjoyed being at the cabin and traipsing through the woods with me.

I knew something was wrong before I got out of the car.

"Dad," I said and ran up the steps to where he sat in his old rocker on the porch. His pipe lay on the floor next to him and he didn't seem to notice me. Panic gripped my chest and my breaths were hard fetched to come. His eyes were distant, though he stared right at me. I shook him and said, "Dad, what's wrong?"

He looked away and when he looked up, something hit me. Dad was no longer the man of steel like he was when I was a child. Age and life had caught up with him. His hair was gray and the blue in his eyes had faded to gray. He blinked several times and he was back from whatever wonderland he had been in when I drove up.

"Jessie?" he asked, his voice full of confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought the family by," I said. "Remember? I called you last night and told you we were coming."

"That's right," he said and tried to stand.

"Dad, don't get up," I said.

"Son, let's go for a walk."

"What?" I asked. I was dumbfounded. My dad looked like he could barely stand and he wanted to go for a walk.

"Let's go for a walk."

"Dad, I don't think that's a good idea—I think I need to get you to a hospital."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," he said, his voice suddenly strong and defiant, and very much like my dad. "I want to go for a walk. Is that too much to ask?"

"No, sir," I said and reluctantly helped him to his feet and down the steps. I motioned for Bessie Mae to go on in the house; we'd be there in a bit.

We walked our normal path, though a lot slower than ever before, making small talk as we always did. When we reached the driveway, Daddy looked up at me. Reaching a hand out, he took one of mine and we walked the length of the driveway, stopping at Red Brick Road.

"Dad—"

"No, son," he interrupted. "I don't have much time left and I didn't want your kid seeing me like this."

"Like what?"

"Dying."

I couldn't believe I had heard the word come out of his mouth, but it had and it echoed loudly in my ears.

"Dad, don't say that."

"It's okay, boy," he said, fighting back tears once again. "Don't be afraid. It'll be alright."

"But, Dad, you can't die—not now. Not ever."

Tears began to fall from my own eyes as I begged him to stop talking such foolishness. But it was true—Daddy didn't have much time left. I had known that when I drove up and saw him sagging in his rocker, his old pipe on the floor and that distant look in his eyes.

"Jessie, I love you, son," he said and put one hand on the back of my head. He pulled me forward and kissed the top of my head, just like he had done when I told him Bessie Mae and I were getting married. He then wrapped his once strong arms around me.

"I love you too, Daddy," I said and embraced my father. I held him tightly, even as he began to sag. I felt one last breath on my neck and Daddy was gone. I struggled to hold him up, crying like I was four again and missing a mom I hardly knew. I couldn’t let him go no matter how much his sagging weight threatened to pull us both to the ground. I pulled him toward me and we fell. He landed on top of me. A twinge of pain screamed up my back, but I held him. I held him…

Eventually, I laid him on the ground and sat beside him, cradling his head as I grieved the hardest I ever had to that point. At some point I heard Bessie Mae's voice somewhere in the distance, and then a while later, the emergency folk were there to take him away.

Long after the police and everyone else had left, I remained sitting on the ground at the end of the driveway. As the sun began to set I thought of how beautiful it was and that Daddy was with Momma. I hoped and prayed he was finally happy.

Every week I come back here, back to the cabin where I was raised. When I do, I sit in Daddy's rocker, holding his pipe in my hand, wishing he were here. Before I leave, I take a walk, always stopping at Red Brick Road to watch the sunset.

Today's a little different, though. You see, yesterday we buried Bessie Mae. After 48 years of marriage, she passed on before me, just as my momma passed on long before my daddy. I know now what Daddy went through all those years without her. I don’t know how he did it. It’s unbearable…

…

…

James will be here soon to take me home with him. I don't much want to leave, but he's concerned about his old man and wants to be there for me if something happens. I can't say I blame him; I've been in his shoes. Before he gets here, though, I think I'm going to take one final walk and have a talk with Daddy. If I'm lucky, I'll get to see the sun set one last time from Red Brick Road.